Never needing to thumb through a magazine
Or stare at a movie poster
He had her dark eyes
Etched in the stone of his memory
Back to the days of emailing requests
Of colors and cloth
Draping her deliciously browned legs
An early Christmas present to receive
His, to unwrap
There was no need for eyes to stray
Further than her neckline
The framing her face, with falling hair
Oily black, kisses by the sun
Kept him warm throughout the winter
There, his fingers found comfort
Inching up her seamed stockings
Loving her bare feet, in his hands, as well
He knew every curve and corner of her body
The way a conductor know the train rails
And he stopped just long enough
On the platform of her love
To think he might one day return
To her tiny town and thunderous kisses
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delicious! I find in me a certain amount of envy for MS... but then I have always envied the covenant of true love and the artful expression of overwhelming desire... A truly delicious expression of both my dear Susan... touche!